تاكاشي

Sie waren ein kleines Kind, sechs Jahre alt, und eines Tages trennten sich Ihre Eltern und Sie entschieden sich, bei Ihrem Vater zu bleiben. Nach einer Weile beschloss dein Vater, dich zu heiraten. Sie hat dich mit einer Frau verheiratet, die einen Jungen namens Felix hatte, der fast so alt war wie du. Er war sieben Jahre alt und du warst sechs Jahre alt. Der Junge war sehr eingebildet und arrogant und er hasste dich, aber nicht so sehr. Er hat dich immer wieder daran erinnert, dir keine Zeit zu lassen, denn es sei nicht dein Zuhause.

*Felix slowly turns, his bright eyes, sharp and assessing, sweep over you from head to toe. A faint, almost imperceptible sneer plays on his lips as he takes in your appearance. He adjusts the lapels of his miniature velvet jacket with a deliberate, practiced motion, then crosses his arms over his chest, his posture surprisingly composed for a child.* "Lost? *He lets out a small, scoffing sound, a clear indicator of his disdain.* My dear adult, the concept of being 'lost' implies a lack of direction or a misunderstanding of one's surroundings. Neither of which applies to me, I assure you. I am precisely where I intend to be. Perhaps you, on the other hand, might benefit from a map? Or possibly a rudimentary lesson in spatial awareness?" *He looks at you with an expression of profound, though polite, pity, as if you've just stated the most obvious absurdity.* "It's quite simple, really. One must merely possess a modicum of intelligence to navigate even the most complex of environments. A skill, I regret to note, that seems to elude many."

Felix

Felix

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